


One Afternoon

by Cody Nelson (codyne)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-24
Updated: 2009-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codyne/pseuds/Cody%20Nelson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After you capture a dangerous enemy, what do you do with him? Second series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Afternoon

Avon stood with his arms folded, looking down at the man in chains at his feet. It was former Space Commander Travis, sitting on his heels, hands behind his back, wrists and ankles cuffed together, and a meter-long length of chain joining the cuffs. The chain was not long enough to allow him to stand, but it gave him some freedom of movement. He could not reach the trigger of the lazeron weapon embedded in his cybernetic left arm, or point the hand to fire it. So, for a change, it was safe to stand only half a meter from one of the most violent and insane men in the galaxy.

Avon and Travis were the only two people on this dry, rocky world. There was sparse vegetation and limited water nearby. A man might be able to survive here—if he was free to walk around and use his hands. A man chained like Travis would slowly starve or die of thirst. "Why don't you just shoot him, Blake?" Avon had asked, as they were preparing to leave. They'd gotten the minerals they needed, and captured Travis, who'd followed them there—a successful mission for once. Then Blake had chained Travis and prepared to leave him there.

"I don't shoot unarmed men," Blake had replied, with that infuriating smile that proclaimed him to be the infallible arbiter of moral conscience.

"You're killing him just as surely by leaving him here like this. Only slowly and much more painfully."

"Someone may find him before he dies."

"A lone man on an uninhabited world in a largely unexplored area of space? Don't be absurd, Blake. He might have a chance if he's not chained."

"Do you want to release him, Avon? I certainly don't."

* * *

And so, of course, Avon had taken the challenge. Not for Travis's sake—he'd have shot the man himself without a qualm, although he didn't care for the thought of leaving even Travis to die like this—but just out of sheer contrariness, and the desire to prove to Blake that he was clever enough to think of a way to set Travis free without getting himself killed in the bargain. Of course, he wasn't going to take any risks, or waste a lot of time trying. If he couldn't think of a foolproof way to do it within an hour, he'd just shoot Travis and go.

Avon paced thoughtfully back and forth in front of the chained man. ORAC sat on the ground behind him. Travis stared at the ground at his feet. He didn't bother struggling against his bonds, he just sat unmoving, a glazed look of cold fury in his single steel-grey eye, mouth set in a stiff line.

"Why don't you just knock me out?" Travis asked. His voice was a calm monotone. He sounded like he was discussing the best way to trim an engine.

Avon replied with the same casual attitude. "The problem is that I'm not trained in hand-to-hand combat. I wouldn't know exactly where or how hard to hit you to knock you unconscious long enough to release you and get away safely. I might not hit you hard enough, and you'd recover before I had the chance to get away, or you might just pretend to be unconscious until your bonds were released. Or I might hit you too hard and leave you seriously injured, and your death would be worse than if I'd just left you tied up. No, that won't do."

Travis didn't make any attempt to convince Avon that he would not harm him if Avon let him go. He knew he would not be believed. Avon respected that. In fact, it was perfectly possible that Travis's promise, if he made one, would be good. Travis's vendetta was against Blake, not Avon or any of the others. And the man might well have his own sense of honor. He was a madman and a violent killer—but no one had ever called him a liar. Still, it was understood between them that Travis must remain physically incapable of hurting Avon, and they both put their minds to solving that problem.

"Drugs," Travis suggested next. "You must have drugs on the Liberator you could use to knock me out."

Avon sighed. "Yes, well, I'm afraid that won't do. Going back to the Liberator would be as good as admitting defeat. Blake would be insufferable. We'll have to think of something we can do with the materials at hand."

"What will you do if we can't think of anything?"

"I'll shoot you, if you'd like, rather than leave you here to die slowly."

Travis nodded grimly.

"I thought you'd prefer that."

"How long?" Travis asked, through gritted teeth.

"Until I give up and shoot you? I don't know," Avon mused softly, as he paced, as if unaware that he was deciding life or death for the man on the ground before him. "Half an hour? An hour? Until I'm certain I've considered all the possibilities and there's no way I can safely free you."

Avon sat on ORAC and put his chin in his hand. ORAC, of course, would be outraged at being used as a chair. But ORAC was shut down at the moment, its key safe in Avon's pocket, so it could not protest its use as furniture. There was nothing else to sit on, anyway, and Avon didn't care for the thought of sitting on the ground with Travis, so he used what was handy. He put his considerable mind to work on the problem.

He could try to work on Travis's arm. He was no cyberneticist, but the arm itself was just robotics and computer circuitry. He always carried a pack of miniature tools hidden in his clothing, in case of emergencies. His companions occasionally teased him for wearing so much metal-studded leather, with innuendos about proclivities toward rough sex and bondage. Avon smiled to himself. Not that he was totally averse to such adventurous activities, but really, leather was excellent cover for hiding small objects about one's person, and the metal studding interfered with metal detectors and other body scans. So he could probably disable Travis's lazeron weapon fairly easily. The trouble was, Travis's cybernetic arm wasn't the only thing that made the man dangerous. He was also a highly-skilled combat-trained fighter. Avon would be willing to take his chances in unarmed combat with most men, but he had no doubt that Travis could kill him with only his flesh and blood limbs as easily as he could with metal and electronics.

Then could he somehow restrain Travis in such a way that he would be able to escape eventually, but only after enough time had elapsed for Avon to get away? He wouldn't need very long. Just a call to the Liberator—and hope that Vila or someone was alert at the teleport—and he'd be gone. But how could it be done? Cut partially through the links of chain, so that they could be worried into breaking? The trouble was the same as with knocking him unconscious—too unreliable. If he cut too deeply, Travis could break the chains before Avon was gone. Not deeply enough, and he'd leave him still bound.

Avon sighed. The sun was beginning to beat down, and there was no shade in the immediate vicinity. And here they were, a couple of fools in black. Sweat trickled down Travis's face, but he remained grim and silent. Stoic and hard as nails. No doubt he'd endured much worse than being unable to get out of the sun. He was intelligent, too. He'd have made a good ally, if one could possibly trust him. If he weren't so riddled by hate that it beat out all other concerns. Too bad Servalan and the Federation had so thoroughly twisted and destroyed the man. There was a wildness in his eye, in the despiteful twist at the corner of his mouth, that proclaimed an even greater madness now that he was a renegade than when he had been under Servalan's thumb.

Avon sighed. He was beginning to wonder why he was bothering to waste his time here. Whatever potential the man might once have had was thoroughly destroyed now. He should be put down like a mad dog.

Perhaps Travis had seen something change in Avon's expression, and knew that Avon was about to give up this ironic challenge. His face twisted briefly in struggle against… something, then returned to steel; but there was a white line around his lips when he finally spoke.

"Avon." He swallowed, lips pressed together tightly. "There is a way."

"Yes?" Avon was intrigued. Obviously, it was a way that Travis would find extremely unpleasant. It was not cruelty, really, as much as curiosity that made Avon's interest pique.

"I was conditioned. By Servalan. She wanted to make sure I would always have to obey her, no matter what she wanted. She was afraid my priorities were not in the right order—that killing Blake was more important to me than protecting her."

Avon suppressed a smile. He remembered that time they'd gone searching for the Federation's central computer, Control, on Earth. Travis had captured himself, Blake, Vila, and Gan and was about to blast them all—when Jenna marched in with Servalan at gunpoint and demanded that her crewmates be released. Servalan hadn't looked at all pleased at the way Travis had hesitated before allowing them to leave. She'd trained her dog a little too well—killing Blake was all that mattered to him. So, she'd decided to instigate a little more concern for her own well-being in her pet killer…. And Servalan's conditioning methods were known to be extremely unpleasant.

"Soon afterwards, she decided it wasn't worth the trouble and put me on trial instead. But the conditioning is still there. It's triggered by a certain… act. If you were to trigger the conditioning, I would be unable to harm or disobey you."

Avon didn't bother to hide his smile now. "Interesting. And the act?"

Travis's face had gone dark. "Ask ORAC. It can find Servalan's records and confirm the conditioning. And tell you the trigger."

Interesting indeed. Of course, Avon would need outside confirmation before he'd trust his life to any purported conditioning of Servalan's. He'd have asked ORAC in any case. But Travis couldn't even bring himself to say what the trigger was. No doubt it was something painful and humiliating. Avon had a notion he might know what it was. And if he was right… well, no point letting his imagination run wild. First things first.

Avon stood, retrieved ORAC's key from one of the many pockets within his clothing, and activated the computer. The characteristic whine filled the air at once. Avon instructed ORAC as to what he wanted it to find, and after a typical moment of protesting that its time was being wasted on Avon's petty concerns, the computer began to work.

* * *

"Well. No wonder you hate her so much." Yes, Servalan's conditioning of Travis had been just as bad as he'd expected. Imagine the sick sadism of the woman to have chosen this method of controlling her unruly subordinate! No doubt she'd enjoyed it, too. And what about Travis? Servalan was a beautiful woman, very sensual. Her cruelty was never crude or simple. Had anything in Travis responded to Servalan's violation of him? The emotions on the man's face as he'd listened to ORAC's calm computerized description of the conditioning were complex and not entirely readable. There was hate, of course, and fury and humiliation—but was there also an undercurrent of dark excitement as he remembered what Servalan had done?

Avon removed ORAC's key, deactivating the computer, and sat down on it again, watching Travis's face. The former Space Commander would not look at him. No doubt he was anticipating his further humiliation at Avon's hands. Avon was beginning to anticipate it himself. The trigger to Travis's conditioning was anal penetration. Servalan had used a dildo on him, of course, but Avon could simply fuck him and turn him into a slave.

Avon smiled in ironic amusement. Former Space Commander Travis, helpless in chains, forced to submit to Avon's ravishment, which would render him completely obedient to Avon's will. And it couldn't even be called rape—he was only doing it to save Travis's life, and Travis himself had suggested it. Reluctantly, of course. And, oh, he would hate Avon for doing it. But then, Travis hated him already. He didn't suppose a little more hate would alter the situation significantly.

Avon stood and stepped up to Travis. Travis still didn't look up at him. That would have to change. Avon slid two fingers under Travis's chin and pulled his head up. Reluctantly, the chained man looked into the face of his savior and tormentor.

"I haven't any lubricant," Avon said. "Do you?"

"In my left side pocket," Travis replied, in a strained, clipped voice. "Lotion. It should do."

Avon found the appropriate pocket—Travis's form-fitting black uniform was as full of obscure hiding places as Avon's leather gear—and removed the small plastic vial of spicy-scented lotion. Travis's skin was fair. This close to him, Avon could see the beginnings of a red rash where his uniform collar rubbed his neck. One would not expect the steely Space Commander to have sensitive skin. Just now, it was lucky for him that he did, or he'd have to endure being taken with only saliva for lubrication.

Travis had been unable to stop himself from flinching at Avon's touch, as his clothing was searched for the vial. He was obviously wound up almost uncontrollably tight. If being touched on his side through his uniform was making him this jumpy, how was he going to react to the most intimate touch? Avon felt his cock tingling, stiffening underneath the leather of his own clothing. He didn't think Travis's reaction was entirely revulsion. Still, the man had better relax a little, or the act was going to be terribly painful.

"Travis," Avon said sharply. The former Space Commander looked up. Sweat trickled down his face. Avon continued, "I've no desire to damage you physically. I'll go slowly and carefully. But I shall require your cooperation if this isn't to hurt. I'm sure you know what you have to do."

Travis swallowed, and nodded once. He made a visible effort to relax his straining muscles.

"Fine. Then let's begin."

The chains were going to be a bit of a problem. Of course they couldn't be removed, he would just have to figure out how to work around them. Travis was sitting with his knees slightly apart, weight on his heels. His current position would probably be fine, if he just bent over. Avon put his hand on the back of Travis's neck and urged him to lean forward, pressing him down until his face was nearly touching the dirt. The chain connecting Travis's wrists to his ankles was long enough to allow this. He was going to end up with his face in the dirt, though…. Well, it was too hot for Avon to leave his jacket on, anyway. He peeled off his outer layer of leather, and positioned it, the lining up, under Travis's upper body. Travis buried his face in the silky linings. He was breathing hard, but not resisting.

The next problem was Travis's uniform. It was a single garment and couldn't be removed with the chains on. Avon knelt behind Travis, and withdrew a small razor from another of his many pockets. Best to just open the trousers along the seam—Travis could sew it up again later, if he could come up with needle and thread, or at least continue to wear the uniform, if he couldn't. Carefully, Avon began to cut the seam down the back of Travis's uniform, from the waist all the way down between the legs.

Travis was getting jumpy again, now that Avon's touch was approaching his target. Avon didn't bother trying to settle him, hoping he'd work off a little of his nervousness now, when it couldn't hurt him.

Carefully, Avon parted the fabric, exposing the smooth white skin of Travis's buttocks. They were lean and well-formed and inviting. Avon imagined Servalan enjoying this view, invading these creamy mounds. It pleased him to plunder what Servalan had plundered. He took Travis's buttocks in his hands and kneaded them softly, working his thumbs gradually into the crevice between them.

Travis cried out, once, loudly; then continued making smaller, whimpering sounds, muffled in the fabric of Avon's jacket. He shifted his weight, grinding his knees into the dirt. His wrists twisted within their bonds. Avon was willing to bet that the man's reaction was not revulsion, but excitement. There was one sure way to find out. He slipped one hand between Travis's legs, past where he'd opened the seam into the trousers, and cupped Travis's cock in his hand. The member was quite erect. Travis's hips thrust into his grip.

Delicious. Not only was Travis forced to allow this, he was helplessly enjoying it. That damned conditioning had better work, or Travis was going to kill him for certain. But what fun in the meanwhile! Avon sent a silent "Thank you" upwards toward Blake on the Liberator—little had he known that this silly challenge was going to result in a most delightful erotic encounter.

Avon opened the seam of Travis's trousers a little further, so that he could pull the man's stiff cock free of the restraining fabric. More comfortable for Travis—and more enjoyable for Avon, to have the genitals on view as he prepared Travis for his entry. Avon stroked the cock a few more times, then took the vial of lotion and squeezed it out onto his fingers. It was cool and slippery, and it left a slight tingling sensation where it touched. Interesting.

Avon slipped his wet fingers between Travis's buttocks and began stroking the tender anus. More whimpering cries from the man being touched. Perhaps Travis wouldn't need much preparation after all. Avon pressed one finger into the entrance, then another. Travis was simply gasping now, lying unmoving except for the involuntary twitches and shudders that shook him. Was the conditioning taking hold of him now, in response to the penetration by Avon's fingers? If so, then Avon could order him to lie still now, unchain him and leave. But why deprive himself? He'd gone this far, he might as well complete the act. And he wanted it now, badly. How long had it been since he'd sheathed his cock in the flesh of another? Far too long. Not since… well, not to think about past pain now. _I fucked Space Commander Travis._ It had a nice ring—he did want to be able to say that, if only to himself. He certainly wouldn't tell his crewmates how he had freed Travis. Perhaps he'd tell Servalan some day how her conditioning had provided him an afternoon's amusement. He had a feeling she'd appreciate it.

Avon eased his fingers free of Travis's ass, and opened his own trousers. His cock was stiff and throbbing with need. He applied some of the lotion to it, enjoying the feel of the cool, tingly wetness on his burning member. He wondered if the lotion was truly meant for erotic use after all. It certainly worked well for that purpose. _You devil, Travis!_ Avon chuckled with amused delight as he bent over the chained man and brought his cock to the moist entrance. What if this was Travis's preferred type of sexual activity? And now, thanks to Servalan, he could not indulge in it without enslaving himself. How wonderfully perverse of Servalan, if she'd known.

He entered the man's anus slowly, with circular motions of his hips. Travis pressed himself back on Avon's cock, furthering the penetration. Either Servalan had trained him thoroughly, or he had enjoyed being in this position previously, for he took Avon's cock with the ease of experience. Fully sheathed, Avon relaxed for a moment, then gripped Travis's shoulders and began to thrust, gently at first, then deeper and harder. Travis moved with him, no longer bothering to resist his own reactions. Avon, too, gave up any effort to control or think about his situation any longer, simply allowing the hot, tight friction on his cock to take over. He could feel the steaming heat of Travis's body beneath him; the heat of the sun beating down on his back; the searing heat of his own body spreading from his pumping cock and balls outward with increasing intensity. He thrust harder, faster, feeling that he must surely burst into flames at any moment.

Travis cried out suddenly, pulling against his chains, the spasms of his orgasm squeezing Avon's cock. His reaction brought Avon to the edge, and one more forceful thrust took him over. He gripped Travis hard and drove into him, pumping his seed into Travis's body.

Gasping, Avon pushed himself free and sat on his heels, catching his breath. Slowly, he did up his trousers, then found the vial of lotion and resealed it. He reached to tuck it back into Travis's side pocket. Travis remained as he was, not even attempting to lift his head. Was this part of his conditioning, or was he just too humiliated to move?

"Travis." Avon knelt at the man's side, and took him by the arm.

"Yes." His voice was muffled in the folds of Avon's jacket. He still made no attempt to move.

"Sit up." Avon pulled at his arm. Travis allowed himself to be lifted upright. His face was red and streaked with sweat. Avon took his jacket, shook the dust off it, and slowly put it on, all the time watching Travis carefully. There was no hate in his face now; no anger or resistance. Just an aching weariness. "You'll do as I say now?"

"Yes," Travis agreed tiredly.

"How long will the conditioning last?"

"I'm not sure. It must be weaker now that I've been free of it for a while." Finally, he looked at Avon. Something sparked in his steel-grey eye; Avon was not sure what it was. "Several days at least. Plenty of time for you to release me and leave safely."

"I'm sure you'd like to kill me more than ever now."

"You saved my life. If you still intend to."

"I do. Just for your information, I have no intention of telling anyone how I did it."

Travis glanced over at ORAC.

"Ah. As you say." Avon strode over to the computer and plugged in the key. "ORAC, you will not repeat anything you've told me about Travis to anyone without my express permission. Understood?"

"Yes, yes, of course I understand!" the computer replied irritably. "Why do you persist in treating me as if…." Its complaint was summarily cut off with a mournful whine as Avon pulled out the key.

Avon turned to Travis. "Now, you. Travis, you will remain on your knees and unmoving until after I've gone. You will make no attempt to harm me or interfere with my leaving. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Avon." There was an undertone of resentment that prevented his reply from being completely mild.

How very nice to have Travis so agreeable, Avon thought, as he found the key to the chains in his pocket and knelt to begin unlocking them. He could even bring him back to the Liberator like this. Fuck him once a day to keep the conditioning intact and make him work for them. Wouldn't that be amusing?

But of course he wouldn't do it. Travis was far too dangerous to keep as a toy, even conditioned. Anyway, keeping slaves did not interest Avon on a long-term basis. Still, it was interesting to know Travis could be made cooperative this way. He finished releasing the chains and stood up, holding them.

"Well, Travis, it's been a very interesting afternoon. I don't expect you to thank me, but I thank you for the experience." He went over to ORAC and picked up the computer. He spoke into the bracelet on his arm. "Liberator? Teleport, please."

Travis watched him with one eye narrowed, unmoving except for the clenching and unclenching of an angry fist, as he dissolved in the teleport stream.

* * *

They were all gathered in the teleport bay—Blake, Vila, Jenna, and Cally—waiting and watching as Avon stepped cheerfully out of the chamber. He set ORAC down on a nearby table, then he lifted the chains in a mocking salute to Blake, and dropped them to the floor.

"Is he alive?" Blake asked.

"Certainly. I told you I'd do it without killing him." Avon smiled, enjoying the look of curiosity and irritation on Blake's face.

"Took you long enough." That was Vila, nervous as always.

"Really? The time seemed to fly by for me," Avon replied airily.

"And you are disgustingly pleased with yourself," Vila added, annoyed. He always took it personally whenever Avon was pleased with himself.

"How did you do it?" Jenna asked. Her curiosity was genuine and unaffected by personal concerns. Of all of them, she would most likely have shot Travis in cold blood and left him dead on the ground. But she, too, had seemed slightly repelled by Blake's willingness to leave the man to die a slow, painful death in chains on an uninhabited world.

Too bad he couldn't tell her the truth. She'd probably enjoy it. But she'd undoubtably tell Blake, and Avon just couldn't bear the thought of Blake knowing what he'd done. "I ordered him not to harm me, and I removed his chains." True enough, although it left out a number of very important steps.

"You ordered him," Jenna repeated flatly. "And he obeyed you?"

"Yes, he did. I found it was just a question of… expressing my orders in the right way." Avon was quite aware that the self-satisfied smile on his face was infuriating to everyone else in the room. And he was enjoying that fact tremendously.

Only Cally was looking at him thoughtfully. She stepped closer, head cocked in concentration. Then her voice spoke in his mind. _Avon, if I were you, I'd go and wash off that scented body lotion before anyone else gets close enough to smell it._

Avon stared at her. Then, without another word, he turned and fled the room.

* * *

On the planet, Travis paced furiously, muttering under his breath, pausing after every few circuits of his pacing to shake his fist at the sky and scream abuse at the Liberator and everyone on her. And to Servalan, the despicable bitch. If he ever got his hands on her, he'd show her pain. Every damn smug officious fool in Space Command, he'd like to condition the lot of them like Servalan had conditioned him. Then mow them down with his lazeron weapon, ping, ping, ping, like ducks in a shooting gallery.

And Blake, rip him limb from limb with his bare hands. Him and every single rebel in the galaxy, blast and smash and crush them into oblivion. And his entire crew, toss them all in the airlock, let airless space have them.

And Avon. And Avon. Kill him too—

(Ask him to do it again—)

Hands around the throat squeeze the life out of him—

Kill him. Kill them all.

Kill them all.

end.


End file.
